VraiFaux
by PirateRouge
Summary: A HGDM fic. Theyre both more or less in char, so obviously it'll take awhile for them to become... romantically involved, I guess. Next chapter: Killer Pink and
1. Depression or Annoying Drips

On a cold, brisk afternoon in November, Hermione Granger stepped out of the carriage   
  
that had taken her from Hogsmeade back to Hogwarts. Her frozen fingers clasped a   
  
small package containing blue ink and a hawk's-feather quill; Ron had crashed into   
  
her desk the other day, sending all of her quills, ink bottles, and blotter paper   
  
out the window into the cage of a blast-ended skrewt Hagrid was bringing to   
  
Dumbledore. Luckily the Hogsmeade weekend was coming up, but even that couldn't   
  
lift Hermione's mood. She hated the unusually cold weather. She could tolerate it   
  
when there was snow, but there hadn't been any precipitation in months, which was   
  
rather discouraging.   
  
Pivoting on her heel, she faced Harry and Ron.   
  
"Come ON!" she exclaimed. "Let's go, please- it's freezing." With that, she stormed  
  
off.  
  
The boys raised their eyebrows at each other, hoisted their enormous bags full of   
  
sweets from Honeydukes, and trudged after the unusually moody Hermione.   
  
~*~  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
Draco Malfoy opened one eye.   
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
He opened the other.  
  
Drip. Drip. Dri-  
  
"AUUGHH!!!!!!!!!!" he yelled, hurling a emerald-colored pillow at the offending faucet.   
  
Of course, he missed horribly, seeing as the faucet was in the bathroom, located was behind a closed door.   
  
"Bloody hell…"   
  
Draco stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom and fumbled to turn the tap off. After this was done, he returned to his bed. Sighing blissfully, he was almost asleep until-  
  
CRASH!  
  
His nostrils flared. Who dare keep him from his beauty sleep?   
  
No, not beauty sleep, he thought. That's too feminine. Of course, ''handsome sleep'' just doesn't have the same ring to it-  
  
CRASH!  
  
Open snapped the silver-blue-gray eyes, up went the 6'-3'' frame, angry became the silver/blonde-headed teen. Throwing open the door, he icily surveyed the cold stone hallway of the 6th year Slytherins' rooms- the Prefect's dorms were being redone. Draco quickly spotted Crabbe and Goyle, unsurprisingly, as the source of the ungodly noise. They were playing Go Fish with Exploding Snap cards, piles of Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs towering on either side of the boulder-shaped morons.   
  
"Do you twits have a death wish this morning?"   
  
This was Draco's domain. Draco called the shots. Draco was the King of Slytherin.   
  
The pair slowly looked up at him.   
  
"Sorry, Draco, we just got back from Honeydukes-"  
  
Dammit, he thought. I needed more blue ink, maybe another quill.  
  
"And why didn't you two wake me up for Hogsmeade?"  
  
"Well," Goyle stammered. "Your door was locked, and yesterday you told us if we ever, um…"  
  
He looked to Crabbe for help.   
  
"If we ever, ah, looked at your door you would-" Crabbe began  
  
"Curse us so we couldn't eat for a week," they concluded together, shivering.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. They were pointless, helpless, and all-around annoying.   
  
I can't wait for the Prefect's quarters to be done so I can get away from the cold stone, from the perpetual smell of various burnt items wafting from random rooms, from Crabbe and Goyle, and from-  
  
"DRAKIE!!!!" a large, rather canine-looking witch garbed in ridiculous pink robes with a way-too-revealing neckline threw herself at Draco.   
  
-Pansy. He winced. Most definitely Pansy.  
  
"Drakie-poo, where were you in Hogsmeade?" she attempted an attractive pout, failing miserably.   
  
Draco gritted his teeth.   
  
"I wasn't there because these two numbskulls…" he looked at the three of them. They weren't blinking. They were hanging on to his every word.   
  
"Augh! This is pointless!" throwing his hands up in the air, he stalked back into his room and slammed the door.   
  
~*~*~  
  
Okay then. This is the first bit. The next chapters will be quite a bit longer, I hope. I realize that there was more Draco than Hermione in this chapter, but that won't always happen. Promise.   
  
Righto… review away! The next chapter should be up in a few days.   
  
P.S. If you've ever read His Dark Materials or are incredibly sugared up right now, check out The Aliens Did It by SevenMinutesFast.   
  
Danke! 


	2. Cheering Up or Percentages of Hate

'Ello. Quick note: *_____* are thoughts- although I'm sure a bright bunch like you would   
  
have picked that up anyways.   
  
Disclaimer for this and last chapter: That's right. I'm JK Rowling. I decided to write a  
  
fanfiction... because... um... writing the sixth book just isnt taking up enough of my   
  
time. So, instead of checking out for a few weeks to the south of France and eating   
  
croissants and sipping uber-foamy cappuchinos, I'm writing a rather crummy fanfic. Bwah  
  
hah.   
  
(If anyone out there didnt get the sarcasm, please call for help. Soon. Before the garden  
  
gnomes slowly steal what's remaining of your sanity.)  
  
~*~~*~  
  
Hermione's Side  
  
It had been a full week since the Hogsmeade trip. The weather hadn't   
  
improved at all- neither had Hermione's mood. On Thursday (the 6th year   
  
Gryffindors' favorite school day because they didn't have any classes after 2   
  
o'clock), the regular crowd of 5th and 6th years had sat down at the end of the   
  
Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for dinner. Conversation was particularly light   
  
and unstudious, perhaps making up for the fact Hermione was smack in the middle of  
  
the group, her head in a thick book that exhaustively covered a rather dry and   
  
arcane subject matter. Her friends had become increasingly worried with her unusual  
  
and extremely anti-social behavior.   
  
"Um, Hermione?" Ron ventured.   
  
No answer.  
  
"Hermione, love," Ginny said in her most mothering tone. "Your hair is in   
  
your soup..."  
  
Hermione closed her book somewhat dazedly to observe a tendril of her hair resting   
  
on top of a piece of floating chicken.  
  
"Bother," she murmured. "I just washed it, too."  
  
Ginny made a clucking noise and grabbed a napkin to dry off the salty lock.   
  
"Why don't we go upstairs, aye?"   
  
Hermione quickly agreed to Ginny's kind suggestion. The girls linked arms and, with   
  
a reassuring wink from Ginny, started the way to their common room.   
  
~*~  
  
About halfway along, their companiable silence was broken by a quiet 'ah-hem'ming.  
  
Dumbledore was behind them, standing calmly in light blue robes. He had seemed to   
  
grow taller in the past years, like he was trying to get as much body mass as possible  
  
between his beloved school and Voldemort.   
  
"Girls, I'm glad I found you. The Prefects' Quarters are complete. The new   
  
location is the Boulangerie on the fourth floor. Password is 'Sorry, sir, not right now.'  
  
Rest well!"  
  
With that, he swept past them, pulling what seemed to be a pair of socks from a wall  
  
sconce as he went.  
  
"Fourth floor..." mused Hermione. "Thats two floors above the regular common   
  
rooms, on the same level as my Ancient Runes class, one below DADA... blast, it'll be  
  
hard to get to the greenhouses on time, won't it?"  
  
"Hermione. You'll manage!" Ginny grinned, almost laughing.  
  
"What in the world is so funny?" the pair tripped up the staircases. Ginny's  
  
infectious smile was starting to spread onto Hermione's face.   
  
"Tsk... so serious. You realize that you're not going to manage being so down  
  
with me as a roommate again, right?"   
  
"I'm not serious!"  
  
Bemused silence from Ginny.  
  
"Gin!... Alright, maybe a bit. It's just this stupid winter, I can't seem to   
  
shake it off. I'm affected by the weather, you know."  
  
"Well, take a bath when we get up there. I've got some salts, and it usually  
  
helps, don't they?"  
  
By the time Hermione and Ginny had reached the painting, they were both happy- Hermione,  
  
for the thought of a soothing bath, and Ginny for cheering up Hermione. They were coming  
  
up on the portrait's landing when Gin stepped on Hermione's robe hem, sending them   
  
crashing into the wall just to the left of where the round and rosy baker was making   
  
tartes aux pommes. Breathing heavily and laughing sporadically, they got to their feet.  
  
"Ah, madamoiselles! Would you like to try a, ah, pie? Very, very fresh!" the   
  
painting greeted them.   
  
"Sorry, sir, not right now," the girls answered in unison. The door swung open  
  
and they stepped into their refurbished and relocated Prefects' Dormitories.   
  
It was worth the time , Hermione had to admit. The whole outer wall of the common room was  
  
windows. The other three walls had a pleasing balance of bookshelves, empty space, and  
  
pictures. It was decorated in various shades of blue and silver for the Head Boy   
  
(Prevke Inge, Ravenclaw) and Head Girl (Terre Vusterstien, Slytherin). The area carpets   
  
were unbelievably soft, the teak wood shiny.   
  
*So perfect!* Ginny and Hermione thought.  
  
"Well, Gin... why don't you get the first bath? I want to check out the bookshelves  
  
and my room before I take mine." Ginny grinned.  
  
"Sure thing. See you later!"  
  
They scaled the staircase and went their seperate ways: right for junior prefects,  
  
left for senior, as a sign informed them. (*I guess Ginny and I won't be rooming together   
  
like last time,* thought the brunette.) Hermione read the names engraved on the doors:  
  
Anya Wekts, Ravenclaw   
  
July Rope, Hufflepuff   
  
Justin Flanke, Ravenclaw   
  
Peter Marx, Hufflepuff  
  
  
  
There was a blank space of wall for about six feet. Then the next and final two doors,   
  
apparantly in a turret- she saw with horror that she was rooming with Blaise. The door next   
  
to them said:   
  
Draco Malfoy, Slytherin  
  
Dean Thomas, Gryffendor   
  
She felt even worse for Dean. While a pureblood,   
  
*He is still a... what do they call it?  
  
A "Muggle Sympathizer".This will make for a harmonious semester, I'm sure...*   
  
  
  
She opened the door to find a room about the size of a large closet with two spiral stair-  
  
cases on opposite ends- one with a green runner, the other with red. Taking a wild guess,  
  
she climbed the red-runnered one to a landing covered in soft cream-coloured carpet.   
  
Opening the door, she found a large room with ivory colored walls and carpet. Her large   
  
windows' curtains were deep blue. The wood desk, window sills chairs, bookcases, dresser,   
  
picture frames, and bed were tinted to be the same dark blue hue, Hermione's favorite   
  
colour. The sun was setting, and a dusky pink light floated through the open windows. A   
  
door by her bed was labeled 'Bathroom'- she opened the door, there was a flight of stairs   
  
going down. On the adjacent wall was a French door, leading out to a balcony. She chose to  
  
go on the balcony, seeing as the day was pretty warm for November. She'd take what warmth   
  
she could get!   
  
Her breath making very faint clouds, she leaned against the railing and closed her eyes.  
  
She heard the sound of a door opening and closing and turned towards it.  
  
  
  
Now, whether it was bad luck, good luck, or just fate (it has yet to be determined), she  
  
was met by a pair of icy blue-gray eyes.  
  
~*~~*~  
  
Draco's Side: Personal Narrative.  
  
They announced at dinner that the Prefects Dorms were done. Took them long enough. Pansy has  
  
been grating on my nevers more than usual the past couple days. Maybe it's the fact she's  
  
trying to convince me to get... what do muggles call them? A 'buzz' cut. This is, in three  
  
words, SO not happening. I'll have to tell her father she's been looking at muggle practices,  
  
that should shut her up. And like I'd shear my hair? I have GREAT hair! What's wrong wi-  
  
Hem. As you can see, the idea is ludicrous. The painting they got to guard our room is obviously  
  
on the daft side of life, and we have a strange password. The common room was alright, I  
  
suppose. The dominant color was blue instead of green, unfortunately. I'm not quite sure  
  
why they wanted to remodel the rooms so badly, but... as my mother says, c'est la vie.   
  
Bad news when I got to the rooms: I share living space with Dean Thomas. Well, not exactly,   
  
because I have my own room and all, but seeing my NAME on the same door as his is pretty  
  
disgraceful. Blaise (who I have a history with... heh) has to share a room with that- that-  
  
that MUDBLOOD. Honestly, I might have been able to stand to be in the same room as her IF  
  
she weren't so buddy-buddy with Potter and Weasel. She has become 1/1000000000000th more   
  
bearable since she stopped the whole squealy lemme-tell-Professer-lemme-tell bit. She has  
  
resigned to be a bloody genius in a quieter, but still braniac, manner. Now, it's always  
  
ticked me to be second place in everything- I've been living with it for 6 years now. That's  
  
most likely the larger part of my annoyance with her. So, the run-up in percentages of my  
  
hatred of that particular Gryffindor is this:  
  
She's a Gryffindor.......10%  
  
She's friends with H&R...25%  
  
She's a Mudblood.........5%  
  
She's SMARTER THAN ME....60%  
  
Now, as you see, the Mudblood bit isn't all that big to me. Handy insult, yes. True, yes.  
  
Fed to me from birth that Mudbloods are inferior, yes.   
  
But, you see, how could she be inferior if she beat me? So, I let my father (who is quite  
  
adamant with his Kill-The-Mudblood attitude) think I share his passion against them. Works  
  
out quite well.  
  
My father would be downright pissed (to put it lightly) if he found out that She Of All   
  
People had put me in my number-two slot (he doesn't know about the number-2 buisness,   
  
either). Being the resourceful, charming, and dashing person I am, however, I have a   
  
solution: whenever I come home for the year (I most definately do NOT go back there for the  
  
Christmas Holidays) I slap my grade parchment (all Excellents) down infront of him and annouce,  
  
"I am the smartest widzard in Hogwarts, father. Again." Which is true. And he hasn't questioned  
  
it yet. Thank you, thank you, for your applause of my brilliance.   
  
  
  
My new bedroom, which is not as good as the one I have back home, is at least decorated in  
  
green. I found that I share a bathroom with Hermione, Blaise, and Dean (I know I share with  
  
Blaise because we both have monogrammed towels. From that, I am assuming that we also share  
  
with our roommates. Pity.) I decided to wander out on the balcony to see if I have to share  
  
that too. I didn't need my coat seeing as it was on the warm side, and the fact that the  
  
cold never bothers me. Infact, I prefer it to hotter months... the sun does murder on my  
  
complexion.   
  
I strode out on the balcony, shutting the door behind me. A girl with almost-curly brown hair  
  
leaned against the railing. Obviously, this was Hermione, seeing as Blaise is a good 4 inches  
  
taller than Hermione (who was a foot shorter than I am). She reacted (a bit slowly, I observed  
  
smugly) to the sound of me closing the door. Turning around, she looked straight in her eyes.  
  
  
  
This had never happened when there hadn't been conflict preceding it. The whole slapping incident,  
  
for example. Since I wasn't seeing red, I could actually see the color of her eyes.  
  
Not that I would want to remember something like that, for the record.   
  
Anyways, I noticed that she has brown eyes rimmed with gold- and she was wearing a red shirt.  
  
Talk about house loyalty.   
  
"Yes, Malfoy? Something I can help you with?"  
  
"No." Stupid mind blanks. Now I have to go with a run-of-the-mill insult. You can't  
  
whack off a good one when you've got no momentum. "Your hair looks... really frizzy today.  
  
Typical of a mud-"  
  
"AUGH!" she screamed. "I am so SICK of that, Malfoy! My hair is FINE! You, on the other hand,  
  
are NOT!" she turned and walked briskly into her room, mumbling things that sounded like  
  
'Mmetoix frizz pthabeplekrq stupid cold oijlkeroijdashzlkjeri.'  
  
I'm going to have to brush up on my comebacks.  
  
~*~~*~  
  
Short, I know, sorry. Theres also not much happening in this one... its just setting up the  
  
characters. Next Chapter: Savvy. The word, who uses it, and Attack of the Killer Pink. 


	3. Waking Everyone or Suprise, You Like a M...

Jenny: Sorry about the confusion. No, this isn't a HP/DM fic.   
  
Now that we've got that cleaned up:  
  
This is the disclaimer song.  
  
It isnt very long.  
  
I don't own anything and I'm not JKR or Yellowcard.  
  
HEY!  
  
In this chapter: Killer Pink, Ocean Avenue, Pente, and the Underprivilaged Overprivilaged  
  
Oh, and by the way, I don't know what Dean is... so here, he's a Halfblood. As those prejeduced few would say.  
  
~*~Hermione's POV~*~  
  
"Zccccccccccccccccdzzzzzfttttttt..."  
  
I slammed the Wizarding Radio in my room.   
  
Slamslamslam.  
  
"And now for the weather forcast!"  
  
THERE we go. *Please, please, please, please can there be snow? Of any kind. Blizzard. Or a storm. A flurry, even.*  
  
"Tomorrow it will be in the mid 20's."  
  
A pause.   
  
"With winds up to 35 MPH..."  
  
Another pause! They were killing me.  
  
"And..."  
  
I narrowed my eyes. Yes, I am usually calm. But the fact that it was 5:30 in the morning (the radio woke me up too  
  
early), I just had three cups of coffee (courtesy of Dobby), and I had been fiddling with the radio for 15 minutes   
  
to find out whether we would have snow made me a little crazy.   
  
"An 85% chance of snow!"  
  
My eyes went wide. Snow?  
  
"Yes, that's right, snow!"  
  
SNOW! I jumped up excitedly, my arm knocking off the alarm clock and sending it straight into the wall I shared  
  
with Blaise.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Blaise yelled, rather grumpily. I heard her stomp up out of bed. Obviously not a   
  
morning person.   
  
A loud CLUNK! came from Blaise's room.   
  
"Auuugh! Dammitdammitdammitdammitdammit..."  
  
From my other wall, I heard Draco's groggy prostest of all this noise. (Isn't that great? I'm sandwiched with   
  
Slytherins). Blaise kept carrying on, Draco groaned, pounded to his door, and slammed it- which got Dean up.   
  
This wasn't good.   
  
  
  
Time to go down and face some sleep-deprived teens.   
  
~*~  
  
I walked tentatively into the common room. Blaise was trying to drive steak knives into my body using her eyes.  
  
Her straight blond hair was frizzy, she had on an ensemble made up of rentina-searing pink that didn't  
  
compliment her skin tone very well (strange for someone as fashion-concious as she is): silky, short nightgown,   
  
fuzzy slippers, and an eye cover. She looked very frightening, like a Victoria's Secret model from hell on a bad day.  
  
I didn't look straight at her... I didn't want to go blind.  
  
Draco, in comparison, looked ironically like an angel. His ice-blue eyes were still clouded from sleep, and he wasn't  
  
wearing a shirt; just comfy, suspiciously muggle-looking cotton pants. He was leaning against the stone wall with  
  
his hair loose around his face. Obviously, he hadn't quite come to terms with the fact he was awake.   
  
"What the HELL was that, Granger?" Blaise spat.   
  
"Shut up Blaise... you're too loud..." Draco murmured, slipping down the wall to a sitting position.   
  
"Granger, you better have one HELL of a good explanation for waking me up-" she glanced at her watch "THREE  
  
hours early. It is SATURDAY. What the HELL were you thinking?"  
  
I grinned. Draco was like a cherub and Blaise was the opposite of her usual gaggingly sweet self. It wouldn't be so  
  
bad if this was a permanent arrangement. But, of course, Draco's silence was too good to last.   
  
  
  
"I know you're angry, Blaise," I spoke lightly. "But could you please not say 'hell' every other word? It's bad for my  
  
virgin ears..."   
  
Of course my ears were anything but virgin, living with a common room full of teenage boys. Even noble teenage   
  
boys spoke 'crudely', as my mom would put it.   
  
  
  
Draco, no longer looking the part of a heavenly being, looked up and smirked evilly. "I bet that's not the only thing  
  
virgin about you, Granger."  
  
At that moment, Dean stumbled in groggily, his eyes half closed.  
  
"Can it, Malfoy, would you? It's too early for those jokes..."  
  
"Couldn't go back to sleep either?" I asked sympathetically. I felt bad for Dean, but the Slytherins deserve it.   
  
"Well, actually, I did... then I heard Blaise having a cordial talk with you. Okay, actually I heard a bunch of loud, and   
  
yet undistinguishable murmuring, punctuated by a lot of 'hell's. Care to explain, oh Short-Tempered One?"  
  
He turned to Blaise, opening his eyes all the way.   
  
Baaaaaaaaaad idea.   
  
"AAUGH!" he yelped, covering his eyes. "I'M BLIND! IT'S THE KILLER PINK! I'LL NEVER SEE AGAIN!!!!!!"  
  
She glared sourly. "Shut up, twit. I'm going to go try to REPAIR THE DAMAGE the Mudblood did to me by waking me  
  
up at this UNGODLY hour."  
  
"Blaise, dear, YOU are ungodly. I'll... escort you up, shall I?" Draco Malfoy managed to look haughty in just pj bottoms.  
  
I think Malfoys go under extensive Haughtiness Training.   
  
"Sorry I woke you up, Dean."  
  
"Eh, no problem. I just hope we didn't wake up the ickle 5th-years..."  
  
"That would be pretty bad."  
  
"Speaking of pretty bad, I'm still seeing white spots in my vision from that ghastly pink thing Zabini had got going  
  
on."  
  
"Victoria's Secret model from hell on a bad day, is what I thought."  
  
Dean laughed, agreeing. It's nice to live with someone in touch with the muggle world.  
  
"You wanna play Pente?" I asked him.  
  
  
  
"Sure. I'll get the house elves to grab us some danishes and... coffee?"  
  
"Milk for me. If I have any more caffine, I'll have a stroke. Or a spasm. Or a heart attack. Or something."  
  
"Right-o," he grinned. "Milk it is."  
  
Pente, milk, danishes, and the prospect of snow! Things were definately looking up.   
  
~*~Draco's POV~*~  
  
*Stupid Granger. * She had gotten Blaise into one of her Moods, which meant no snogging for me today. At least not   
  
with Blaise.   
  
After depositing the moody and extra-evil-looking Blaise at her door, I went back to my room, put on a t-shirt, and   
  
ventured back downstairs.   
  
In the middle of the 6 Year Prefects' Common Room, the Mudblood and Dean (I had a certain respect for the guy... I  
  
saw him catch the snitch before Potter one time. Granted, Potter wasn't paying much attention, but that still deserves a  
  
bit of merit) were playing a weird game and eating. Curiosity and the knowledge that if I didn't get involved I would be  
  
bored out of my skull won over my hesitation to willingly go withing 3 feet of the Mudblood for purposes other than   
  
insult or injury, and I ventured over.   
  
"What's that?" I asked, nonchalant.   
  
"Pente," Dean answered, not looking up from the board. Granger did, suprised.  
  
"I repeat," I rolled my eyes. "What's that?"  
  
"Strategy game. Like tic-tac-toe, sort of," Dean grunted.  
  
I raised my eyebrows, waiting for further clarification, and Granger sighed.  
  
"We each have stones of a certain color. You place the stones on the intersecting lines of the grid and try to get 5 in  
  
a row: horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, one stone at a time. You can capture stones like this: see, I'm blue (x) and  
  
Dean's green (o)," she took a few of Dean's stones she'd captured already and some of hers and placed two green ones  
  
next to each other on an unused corner of the board. Then she took two of hers and placed them on the outside of   
  
Dean's, like this: xoox.  
  
"Now, see, since I surrounded his two, I get those. You win by capturing 15 stones or getting 5 in a row."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Would you like to... play with us?" she said tentitavely. Dean raised an eyebrow, still thinking about his move.   
  
I didn't feel like reading or tolerating Crabbe and Goyle... besides, this is one of the things that Granger couldn't shoot  
  
her hand up in the air about. Why not?  
  
  
  
"Three-way Pente? Sure."   
  
I sat down. They made a new scoresheet, and we played for hours. The games were fast, but I liked it!  
  
~*~  
  
The games ended abruptly when Blaise sauntered down. She had the usual makeup caked on, her hair was ridgid in is  
  
perfection, and she looked ravishing and cruel. As usual. One withering look from her and the knowledge that if I acted  
  
like I had been ENJOYING playing some weird muggle game with a halfblood and a mudblood. Before she would think   
  
that I was there on purpose, I shot up.  
  
"You're retarded, Mudblood," I rushed out. Appearances and reputations suck sometimes.   
  
"You've got that right," snorted Blaise.  
  
"Go to a shrink, jerk," muttered Granger, looking confused.  
  
And hurt?  
  
I mean, like I cared. All I did was just play Penta or Penter or whatever. She'd get over it.   
  
Dean shrugged.  
  
Good to know he cared.  
  
"Been there, done that. I am now persona non grata with half the Mungo's psychiatrists. They ~dared~ to catagorize me."  
  
  
  
"Really, Mafloy. At what as? Insane Bouncing Ferret, Uncurable?"  
  
"No," I glared. "As the Underprivilaged Overprivilaged. Naturally, my original shrink got fired." I grabbed Blaise's arm and  
  
pretended to storm out of the common room.   
  
"Great," Blaise said. I was going to ask that Dean kid about what Prof. Mentella said in our Symbolism class yesterday... Now I can't go back in there  
  
without lookig like an idiot. Thanks a lot."  
  
  
  
Then she stormed off.  
  
Number of conflicts today: 8. Not bad.   
  
~*~No POV~*~  
  
Hours after the Pente game had broken up, Hermione got in the shower. It was large (about a 20' area), had a Screen Spell around it, and was tiled  
  
in a night sky mosaic. She waved her wand and music began to play. She sang quietly along.  
  
*There's a piece of you that's here with me  
  
It's everywhere I go, it's everything I see  
  
When I sleep, I dream and it gets me by  
  
I can make believe that you're here tonight  
  
That you're here tonight  
  
If I could find you now things would get better  
  
We could leave this town and run forever  
  
I know somewhere, somehow we'll be together  
  
Let your waves crash down on me and take me away  
  
I remember the look in your eyes  
  
When I told you that this was goodbye  
  
You were begging me not tonight  
  
Not here, not now  
  
We're looking up at the same night sky  
  
And keep pretending the sun will not rise  
  
Be together for one more night  
  
Somewhere, somehow...*  
  
She sighed, lingered in the hot water for a few extra seconds. Padding across the room, she grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself, and walked  
  
into the hall smelling of roses, to her slight annoyance.  
  
*I love roses,* Hermione mumbled mentally. *But I do believe that mom's birthday gift of all-rose toiletries was a bit much...*   
  
She stopped dead in her tracks to see Malfoy leaning up against the wall.   
  
"Malfoy?" she squeaked in disbelief, clutching her towel closer around her body.  
  
"Yes," he chuckled. Then he raised an eyebrow. "You smell like my mother's garden, Granger. Who was that?"  
  
"What, the music? Yellowcard... heard them in California when I visited my cousin."  
  
"Ah."  
  
A silence.   
  
"Muggle music, then."  
  
"Yes," she sighed in exasperation. "Muggles. Mudbloods. Making good music. Quite a shocker."  
  
"Fine then," he said, starting to walk away. "If that's how you're going to be about it."  
  
"Malfoy," she called. He paused. "What did you mean, 'Underprivilaged Overprivilaged'?"  
  
"Quite simple, Granger. To sum it up, rich kids who have family problems that put them at a disadvantage to living a 'normal' life. Like a rich girl  
  
who has all the latest brooms and clothes and has her own apartment in Paris, but who's father is an evil minion and whos mother is a druggie."  
  
He paused.  
  
"Like Blaise," he added.  
  
"Like you," Hermione said pointedly.   
  
"I don't like labels."  
  
Hermione started to walk towards her door.  
  
"By the way, Granger," he said lightly. "It's snowing."  
  
~*~  
  
There it is. Be that as it may, I'll go drink some tea. 


End file.
